Decatur Democrat, Volume 25, Number 17, Decatur, Adams County, 28 July 1881 — Page 1

The Decatur Democrat

V0L.25.

The Democx'at. , Official Paper of Adams County. fe». Hey 'Williams, fropriotor. Terms: One Dollar ami> Fifty Cents Per Year. THE DEMOCRAT'S AUEXTR. AulaNt nrt aatl afactor) nt ranjrrrnoutH can be made wr will have nu A«rciit tor The Democrat at each poHioftirr in the County, the Int inert of whom will br kept t*tntiriiuu in the paper. IVr do I his tor the com entente . I our HUb«ci ibci-H, nnd t rust th* > **i!i appreciate it. Siihrtcribar*' con pa> their auliNcription, or nay part thereat, nr any sum ol money , to mir auento, tv ho will receipt for the Name, mid who a ten will take the names and rash ol new sabMcriberH. The lollowiuu are th** names ol aseiita already appointed, and our l atritnn nt the several offices w ill do us a xrrat favor by reinittinu to them a ‘‘lit-ie money on siihsct iptton : ” C. \V. fl Of'KEl* Monroe JOHN I). HALL Geneva El GENE HORiIOW Linn Grove J. T. BAILEY, ATT’Y AT LAW J. I’., I»FC ATUR, 1 vDIANA. Il’ill I’rflclice iu Adams iiml adjoining Counties. Collections n specialty. v24n29tf a’, g. Holloway. m d. PHYSICIAN & SURGEON, DECATUR, INDIANA. Office in Houston’s Block, up-stairs. Will attend to all professional calls promptly, sight or day. Charges reasonable. Residence on north side of Monroe street., 4th bouse east of Hart’s Mill. 25jy79if li 1J Am .is* n, I’re-’t. W. It Nipi.dk .Cashier I>. bit DAMAKFk, Vice Preo’t. THE ADAMS COUNTY BANK. DECATUR, INDIANA, This Bank is now open for the transaction of a general banking business. We buy and sell Town, Township and County Orders. 25jy79tf PETERSON X HUFFMAN, ATTORNEYS AT LAW, DECATUR, INDIANA. Will practice in Adams and adjoining cowniies. Especial attention given to collections and titles to real estate. Are No taries Public and draw deeds and mortgages Real estate bought, sold and tented on reasonable terms. Office, rooms 1 and 2, 1.0. (). F. but! ng. 2’iy79tf FRANCE A KING. ATTORNEYS AT-LAW, DEC.iTI It.INDIANA.

I Trj A i"— : ' : == V“= —■.rvi H K. , ~7~. Ferry, Huston, county, Ga., January 28, 1880. In 1873, (here were two negros confined in jail badly afflicted with Syphilis. In my official capacity 1 employed C. T. Swift to cure them, under a contrac 1 , “ho cure, no (•ay, He administered his “Syphlitic Specific, and in a few weeks 1 felt bound lo pay him out of the county treasury, as he bad effected a complete and radical cure. A. 3. Giles, Ord. Houston co,, Ga. Cwatt LNOOGA. Tenn., Feb. 14, 1879. The S. S. S. is giving good satisfaction. One gentleman who had been conuned to his bed six weeks with Syphilitic Rheumatism has been cured entirely, and speaks in the highest praise of it. Guilts & Berry. THE SWIFT SPECIFIC COMPAN Y, Proprietors, Atlanta, Ga. Sold by D,rwin & Holtlionse. Cali for a copy of “Young Men’s Friend.” no. 3. 3m. Notice to Father*. Mothers, Maters, Brothers. Uncles, Aunts, and all Relatives. Secure Certificates on yanr relative’s lives in the PIONEER MUTUAL ASSOCIATION of UNION CITY, INDIANA,— The cheapest Relief offered by any Association in the United States. Cirtificates given on all males and females that are of sane mind and good health, from 20 to 85 years of age at the following low t ales: $6 for a SI,OOO Certificate. $lO for $2,000; sls for $3,000 $25 for $5,000; or a total of sl6 to secure Certificates for $3,000 in the First Division ; SSO to secure Certificates for SIO,OOO in the Second Division; SSO to secure Certificates for SIO,OOO in the Third Division; ssolo secure Certificates forslo,ooo in the Fourth Division; Yearly thereafter only $1 on each one thousand during life, with the following asses* ments iu each class and division: At the death of a member, $1.25 on $l,0O0; $2 30 on $2,000; $3.35 on $3,000; and $5.50 on $5,000. All males and females from 65 to 85 years of age, are respectfully requested to secure certificates. Regular stock Insurance Companies do not insure over 65 years. Therefore, as this is your only chance for relief we advise you to accept this great offer at once, as it is dangerous to delay. Remember, you have no risk to become a member of this association, as its officers have each given bond to the amount of ten thousand dollars for the faithful performance of their duties. Call on O' - address France & King, Agents, 4m6. Decatur, Ind. Gray’s Specific Medicine. TRADE MARK The Gkeai TRADE MARK t English Remi dy an unfailing cure for s’ seminal weak ■,'%» /J nesß, Spermatorrh ca, I m teticy,Jand ait BtfORE TAtING- 1 ' 6 * 86 ' s ,!,a 'HFTER TAKING, follow ns a consequence of Self-abuse; as loss of memory, Universal Lassitude, Pain in the Back, Dimness of Vision, Premature Old Age, and many other diseases that lend to Insanity, Consumption and a premature grave. fkjr'Full particulars in our pamphlet, which we desire to send free by mail to every one. The Spect&c Medicine is sold by all druggists st $1 per package, or ti pack ages for S>, or will be sent free by mail or receipt of the money by addresiing THE GUAY MEDICINE CO . No. 10ti Maio street, Br.ir tio, N Y. For sale ly Dotw.u t Holtliouse. Carry the Sens Io .’Jtsiy. ihave a good farm »f 100 acres. 40 acres deared and t>o acres good timber, 2mi|es east of Decatur Will sell reaEtjiiabU B-H. Pent

SMALL-POX, SOHrPOXI I ! Now that the small-pox scare is all dead and buried, I am | prepared to show you the | nicest line of DRY GOODS, A of Swiss, CLOTHING Hats, Caps, GHOCERIES, Ever brought to Decatur, and at astonishingly LOW PRICES

Please Note the Folk 'ing i Follwell all-wool Cashmere at 50 cents. Hats from 35c. to $4.00. Corsets from 50c. to SI.OO. Table linen, 25c. to 1.00. Towels, 10c. a pair. Brocade Dress Goods worth 25c. at 20c. Dress Goods from 7c. upwards. Nice style of Dress Ginghams at sc. and upwards. Nice lot of White Goods at 10c. and upwards. Silk Fringes from 45c. to SI.OO. Black Laces, 10c., 15c. and upwards. Curtain Laces, 121 c. and up wards. Hose in endless varieties at sc. and upwards. Fancy Buttons, of all styles, from sc. to 50. Piece Goods, single and double width, from 65c. to $5.00. Ladies Cloaking in double width. Highest Market Price Paid lor Produce. James Edington. Decatur, April 14, 1881.

FLAX STRAW. How to cut it. How to cure it. To farmers of Adams and adjoining conties, who desire to harvest their Flax crop to the best advantage, I will oiler the following advice.Cut your Flax earlier than you have been accustomed to. Have no fear about your seed not being ripe. It will mat uro to better advantage after it is cut than if it was growing. Use a mowing machine cut close to the ground; let it lay for two or three weeks. It will not mould or; sprout while laying in this condition more than if it was standing in the ground. When your seed has matured and you wish Io take up your flax to house, stack or take off the seed, use a horse rake, in the early part of the day when the dew is on. Rake up about as much as you can lake care of the balance of thb day. If you wish to take the seed oft’, clean a piece of ground about twenty feet square, near your flax field. Commence tramping or rolling about 10 a. m. and you'll get oft’ your seed as fast as one team can haul it from the field. Stack your straw neatly. While your horses tramping, if you are going to have * rain storm, cover your seed heavy with tramped straw. Do not u*e a threshing machine to take effi the seed. 1 buy unwillingly lots of flax seed, at $4 and $5 per ton. Dark colored or swathrotted, and green straw that is spread out to rot, will be the most desirable and bring the highest price. The curing or rotting can be done on the farm. It will not cost in labor over fifty cents per ton and will be worth $2 per ton more than unrolted when brought to the factory. Price from $3 to $6 per ton. I will not buy wet straw nor weeds. All information in recard to curing and rotting flax straw will be given at the fatory. Farmers having last year’s crop will find market for it at the factory. THOMAS F. MYLOTT, Prop’r. Decatur, June 30. 4w Dissolution ol Co-Partnership. By mutual agreement we the undersigned have this day dissolved partnership. All parties knowing themselves indebted to us will please call at the Treasurer's office and settle by cash or note. Thanking our friends who have in the past favored us with their patronage, we remain yours very truly. Conter it Holthouse. Decatur, June 13, 1881. New Firm. The undersigned having this day formed a co-partnership in the boot and shoe trade respectfully invite the leading public to call and examine their large and varied stock. Good goods at the lowest living prices will be their motto. VOGLEWEDE & CONTER. Decatur. Ind., June 13, 1881. To the Public. Having this day formed a co-part-ner ship to be known as Voglewede and Center, 1 request all parties knowing themselves indebted to me to call and settle by cash or note. Thanking my friends for past patronage and soliciting your favors in the future, I remain yours, J. 11. Voglewede. Piles, Rectal Ulcers, Fissure, Polypus, Fistula Cured! No Cutting, No Ligating, No Pain. By Dr. A. B. Jamison who is permanently located in Decatur. Rooms third and fourth doors in Odd Follows building. Piles, Nj Cure, No Pay. The worst cases cured without Knife, Clamp, Scissors, Heated Iron, etc. Without application of Acids, or injection of! Acids that will produce’ Pain. Misery or Danger. In the majority of cases the treatment is Painless and go about your work immediately’after treatment. I guarantee the cure of pit.es every 1 TIME, and if I fail will return every cent paid and make you a present of One Hun dred Dollars. Ulceration of the rectum. A fearful MALADY. It is often mistaken for a “Bad case of piles. ’ Many times, Womb. Kidney, hi ver, Heart, Stomach, and Nervous troubles. If Ulceration is the cause of your poor health it will cost you nothing to know it. j Consultation free to all. IFhat is the cause of your poor health. General debility, l Despondency, wrinkled face, complexion ash-color, torpid liver, Dyspepsia, poor ! memory, nervous prostration, inability to I labor, constipation or costiveness, hard I and slow movements of the bowels, pain m abdomen, numbness aching, soreness in ’ legs and over the body, weak and aching < back, itching, smarting and burning in rectum at times, occasionally diarrhoea, bleeding and a little protrusion. Some or many of these few symptom’ mentioned, may be present, if so. you, may be sure an enemy to health is with you. Write or send for circulars tluU you may get some idea of the misery Rectal troubles can cause. I can name many of my patients except those who requested me not toaud when you have talked with them you will then say 1 have at no time half told the misery caused by ulceration,^Piles,Fistulas, etc. Office third and fourth doors in Odd Fellows Building, Decatur, Adams county, Indiana. A. B. JAMISOX, M. !>., Vol. 23 No. 14 ts. •pQOTICE TO NON-RESIDENTS. The state of Indiana, Adams County, Ss. In the Adams Circuit Court, September term, 1881. Martha A. Walters ) vs. >■ No. 1,529, divorce. William M. Walters J It appearing from affidavit, filed in the above entitled cause, that William M. Walters, the above named defendant, is a non-resident of the State of Indiana. Notice is therefore hereby given the said William M. Walters that he be and appear before the Hon. Judge of the Adams Circuit Court, on the first day of the next regular term thereof, to be Loldeu at the j court house in the town of Decatur, com- > menciug on ' Munday , f/te 2Gf7t of September, 1881, i and plead by answer or demur to said complaint: or the same will be heard and determined in his absence. Witness my name, and seal of said court hereto affixed, this 28th day of June, 1881. N. BLACKBUEN, I Clerk. June 30,1881. -3w.

DECATUR, ADAMS COUNTY, INDIANA, JULY 28, 188

A LOST STAR. BY ETTIE ROGERS. Ab, fool, nnd made myself a queen of farce: When comes another such?-TassrsoN. The majority of people who fill the theatres presuppose a tragedienne to be a personage naturally and absolutely imposing—majestic of figure, imperia] of feature, and entrancingly as sonorously expressive of voice. And this major crowd, who has never hoard that some of the greatest actors were insignificant of form and ugly of physiognomy, has possibly never surmised that a passionate and persistent fondness and ability for dramatic art may sometimes dignify the meanest stature and glorify the plainest face, 1 until even the most uncompromising of critics can scarcely decide whether he beholds a divinity or a goblin. Corinne St. Orso had a passionate prediction for all things theatrical. For acting she had much liking and more ambition, and some capability; but of the patience, the dogged persistence, the sanguine submission to necessary and laborious routine that compel success she had none. Moreover, her physique was emphatically unlike that of the ideal tragedienne of the multitude. She was satisfaetoiily tall, with a divine expression of contour and carriage; but her perfect, sensitive face blanched or flushed too quickly, perhaps, with every brief emotion of the play—-her great blue eyes filled with tears too easily, and she had a childish peculiarity of tossing back her plenteous, brownish-red hair that not a few spectators considered often irrelevant, and always affected. She had never yet learned that behind the footlights one must be incarnate and flexible falsity, masked with the perfect sethetic artfulness that seems all artless and spontaneous. She was much too natural and infantile for her chosen profession. Observers saw not the trained and experienced actress; they beheld only an enthusiastic and excited girl. Consequently her dramatic career was only a pathetic fiasco. She affected Shakesperian characters; but her roles of Lady Macßeth and Ophelia —that she had unfortunately chosen—she could not at all forcibly or impressively act. Perhaps, had her brain been more masculine and her heart been less feminine, she would have played more impressively. But she could never sufficiently subdue her open contempt for the weakness she believed beg’.is madness, nor her womanish abhorence for even a moments semblance of vioolence and treachery and crime. The part of Juliet she decisively refused to perform, protesting that the character was altogether too insipid and sentimental. Judging Corinne St. Orso by her idiosyncrasies, her inconsistencies, one would have decided that she ought to be a theatrical notoriety. But she was neither a notoriety or a celebrity. Iler loveliness and grace, her ambition and ability, had secured for her an indeterminate, mediocre popularity and salary, above and beyond which, as she began bitterly to realize, she might never rise. After a prolonged and extravagant and sensational advertising, she had played her Lady Macßeth one night in a large inland city, before an andience that seemed especially critical or unappreciative. The mood of the poor actress was particularly unpropitious that night. She was ill, nervous and sad. She forebode failure without the courage to defy it; and her perform- ; ance was decidedly not excellent. She saw sarcastic smiles and stares of wonder in the parquet; once she heard an ominous groan in the gallery, and she fancied that even her indulgent and sanguine manager seemed disappointed and severe. She was humiliatingly conscious, too, that her manager had bribed every brava and every encore, and even the profuse bouquets that were tossed at her feet. It was all ove? at last. And Corinne St. Orso would always remember the bitter, feverish dissatisfaction at her own playing she felt so sharply for the first time that night. “If I cannot please this small city, I must expect only the polite ridicule of the professional critics of the metropolis,” she thought sapiently, as she left the theatre. She had already entered a hired cab, the door of which was closing, when a gentleman, handsome and dark and tall, rapidly advanced and placed in her I reluctant hands a rather abnormal bouquet. The next instant, without a ’ word-, without a salute of any kind, he i disappeared. The cab door closed with ! a sharp clash, the cab moved away swiftly, and presently bowled along in■to a gloomy street. A cloudy old : moon shone through the dusty glass ! upon the girl who with shaking fingers held her singular souvenir—a stalk of pale fox-glove flowers and a spray of night shade, heavy with tinny purple blossoms and oval berries, emerald and

murkv scarlet. Attached to the plain silver holder was a tiny note, inscribed: ‘■Fox-glove anil night shade side by side, Emblems of punishment and pride.” She gazed with startled eyes upon the strange gift, and then dropped it slowly, as if it had alarmed and yet enchanted her, as if the sickening scent of the night-shade were, indeed, deadly. She was very pale, and big, hot tears rolled down her lovely cheeks. “I have acted wrongly and unwisely, but I am not silly enough not to feel and acknowledge the truth.” she thought, more sorrowfully than resentfully. “After to-night I might—Heaven knows—have gone back to him and implored his pardon for my foolish willfulness. But, somehow, a taunt only makes more hard and headstrong the heart and will of a woman, no matter how foolish or erring she may be. This dumb symbol of his derision hurts me. No frank, wordy mockery could be half so unmanly-so barbarous. And yet, would he notice me at all, even in this cruel, mocking manner, if he loved me no longer, I wonder?” she mentally questioned. A week later she appeared as Ophelia upon a metropolitan stage. She acted the character with a feverish fervor, more interesting than professional, until she entered the castelchamber in the pitiful and fantastic garlands and robes of madness, and heard Laertes concluding: •‘Nature is fine in love; and where ’tis fine It sends some precious instance of itself After the thing it loves." to glance twoards one of the boxes, she saw a gentleman regarding her reproachfully, pityingly, idolatrously. And as if she had, indeed, gone mad, she streched her fair arms towards him with a cry more thrilling and weird than ever Shakespearian Ophelia ever uttered. There was nothing mimetic in the pathos of the tone; there was nothing mimicry in the hysterical movement with which she turned as if to rush from the stage, and then reeled and fell prone at Laertes’ feet. It was all intensely, pitifully, real. And while she lay there like one dead, her fair, unconscious face hidden beneath her gaudy crown and disordered hair, the curtain rolled down—the curtain went down forever upon the melancholy theatrical career of Corinne St. Orso. She was conveyed as speedily as possible to her hotel; and a half hour later the stranger of the box appeared and demanded an admittance to her presence. “But she is too much ill. She can see nobody. It is believed she may not live,” expostulated an attendant. “I am her husband,” was the answer. “Admit me at once.” The next moment he was bending over the poor young actress, who was in her delirium telling her own doleful, dramatic story in a fragmentary, pathetic way. In her pitiable, mild frenzy, she was j walking somewhere under brilliant moons and mellow suns, always where ■ the grass was green and the trees grand, and where the violets grew beside sweet, babbling waters. Someone was always with her—someone whom she adored, and by whom she was beloved, with a faithful, patient, sacrificed love, beyond belief—beyond any other human tenderness or comprehension. Ah, but her childhood had been so bare and meagre and miserable! She had hungered often, and often felt the pain of stinging | blows. Iler burden of repulsive toil j and care had been heavy and hard, but ' not so unbearable as the sickening lack of affection and sympathy. But she had her illusions and ambitions. She meant sometime to be a great tragedienne, like the immortal Rachel of j whom she had heard. She ran away from an uncongenial home to join a traveling troup. Her debut was so i deplorable unsuccessful that she was I unceremoniously discarded, alone and ; I without friends, in a city of strangers. She dared not go back to her home, i and her day seemed very dark when her darling first met her. Oh, he was so kind, so respectful when he befriended her. He trusted her goodness just as she trusted his benevolence. He ' must have loved her with a rare, very blind but unearthly love, indeed; for most men do not give their best affections, their name and household happiness to women of whom they know nothing. He married her, and for a time both were happy. He gave her a pretty home. For a time she was almost profanely happy. And then all the old illusions and ambitions came back to vex and 1 tempt her. She could never feel that I she had fulfilled the mission of her ! life; she could never die in any sort of satisfaction or resignation until she i had become a great tragedienne. And so. just as stealthy as she had become a fugitive from a most hapless home, she left her husband’s house. But this time her feelings were not the same.

Before, she had discarded a life she hated; now she was leaving a life that was all too tranquil and dear. But her sacrifice was vainly made. Her early starvation of body and brain had not been conducive to the physical strength, the large, clear, mental capacity, the peculiar discipline of emotions, so necessary to the success of the actress. She knew quite well why she had failed. Her managers had always been too kind and the public too indulgent. She knew she was altogether too incompetent to attain the excellence which she coveted. Had she only known that love was more satisfying than an enthusiastic pursuit after an illusive fame, she would have remained with her husband. He hated her now with a righteous hate; she had been a neglectful and very inferior wife indeed. But the blame was all her own. Only for those childish illusions and fatal ambitions she might have made him and herself happy in that elegant bijou of a mansion that had been so daintily fashioned and furnished for her alone. Had he not, just to please her, had carved above the pretty en-trance-door Daudet's fanciful inscription: “Parva domus, magna quies?” But it was entirely too late now for the good God to take her back to the “small house and great rest.” But her punishment for any dereliction of domesticity was superlatively agonizing. The wrong had been all her own. If he would only come to her once anorej if he would only permit the presumption. she would grovel at his feet and supplicate him not to deny her one little glance of fondness, one little word of pardon. But he would come never again, except to mock her with gifts of night-shad. All at once, her delirious, seeming babblement ceased. She was conscious and apparently sane for the moment. “You know my darling, do you not?” queried her husband soothingly. “I have come to take you back to the small house where you will have a great rest, dear. Do you not remember rhe tall ascension lilies that grew under your window, love? They are budding now, and will blossom at your coming. Do you hear me darling do you understand?” She did hear and understand his tender, comforting plead. A pretty, girlish color warmed and reddened her wan cheeks, and her mournful eyes brightened with an unearthly splendor. “I much fear you have come too late,” she faltered. “My doctor says I must die.” “No, no! I say not that,” protested the pompous little man.” “The fever in the brain is much, but it will not kill. It is here the great trouble—in the breast. The puncture is very Small, is it not? The long pin made it—the beautiful pin with the solitaire diamond she wore when she fell, and that pierced the soft, pretty skin. The point of the pin had on it some strange poison. But if the venom be sucked out. monsieur, the lady will live.’ The patient made a quick, imperious gesture of dissent as her husband instantly prepared for the act suggested by her physician. “You must not do it,” she remonstrated; “you will imbibe the poison and die.” “Love is master hers,” was the answer; “and I shall not die.” His warm lips pressed the wound, and a half hour later the pompous but really clever physician announced that she would live; and presently, with a few verbose orders, the man of medicine left the two alone together. “How good and unselfish you are!” murmured Corinne, kissing the hand that caressed her fallen bead. “I am neither as good or unselfish as you suppose.” confessed her husband. “1 was not as considerate towards you as 1 should have been; and when you left me all the demoniacal instincts of my nature were excited. I followed you everywhere, I was insanely jealous, and in one of my frenzied moods I sent you that diamond pin in a knot of yellow roses. It was an extremely unique ornament, and 1 I knew you would like it and wear it. But I had dipped the point of the long ; gold pin in a poisonous preparation ' given me years ago by a queer, empiric old Hindoo. There was murder in my heart, then, for I prayed by the satanic spirit of the dead that it might some time puncture your flesh and kill you. But fortunately, the venom had lost much of its fata] potency. 1 suppose after this confession you will fear and loath me. 1 shall not blame you. Cor- ' iuve. But if you will but pardon and trust- me, Corinne —if you will come ■ back to me, darling—l shall be to you as good a husband as even the sweet woman, my exacting, wayward wife can desire.” There was flattering and comfortiu/, music in his masterly voice, and the [ pretty, bumbled creature lying

arms felt that henceforth she could be and do only what he desired. And so one pale, small star dropped from the dramatic galaxy, to appear never again. But, as star and queen of one happy home, Corinne St. Orso has found a supreme and satisfying content from which no fallacious ambition for theatrical fame can ever lure her. AWAITING PROOF FROM ITALY. Gendarmes on the \\ ay to 1 ry to Identify Rebello as Esposito the Bandit. The Italian who says that he is A ineenzo Rebello, fruit vender of New Orleans, and who is under arrest as Giuseppe Randazzo, a noted bandit of Sici ly, was again before I nited States Commissioner Osborn yesterday, on the proceedings for his extradition. The prisoner was taken from Ludlow street jail by Deputy Marshall Bernhard and another officer, who»sat by his side in the court room during the examination. A photograph of him taken in New Orleans, and similar to the one sent to Italy and recognized there as a likeness of Esposito, was shown to a number of spectators in the courtroom. It represents the prisoner standing with a companion, whos right hand is resting on his left shoulder. His face is not unlike that of Mr. Jay Gould, except that the nose is not so prominent. The longitudinal scar over the bridge of his nose, which is said to be one of the marks of Bandit Esposito’s identity, cannot be detected in the prisoner's face by causal scrutiny. M hen his fore bead is contracted, as was frequently the case yesterday while he was being inspected, the faint mark is lost in wrinkles. Ex-Judge William G. Choate appearfor the prisoner, as associate counsel with Dr. Lorenzo Ullo. Frederic C. Coudert and Paul F. Fuller appeared for the Italian Government. Mr. Ful ler handed to the Commissioner nine papers and receipts and $340 taken trom the prisoner at the time of his arrest. He said that the receipts would show that the prisoner's name in New Orleans was not Rebello, but Constanzo, and Mr. Fuller added that he did not believe Rebello was the prisoner’s name in Italy. He read the following cable dispatch to the Italian Counsel at New Yoik: Rome, July 17. Italian Counsel, to be forwarded to I'rincc Camporeale: Photograph and declaration ascertaining identity of Randazzo forwarded Consulate 9th inst. Gendarmes start cd yesterday from Palermo on English steamer Alexander, Royal Anchor line, which, after touching Naples, will proceed direct to New \ ork. Mancini, Minister Foreign Affairs. Mr. Fuller renewed his application for an adjournment to allow the introduction of the evidence now on the way from Italy. Dr. Ullo again asked for Rebello's discharge. Imprisonment for twentyfour days on suspicion, he said, was a wrong to the prisoner. The evidence for which it was proposed to wait might have been produced immediately after the arrest was made. It was claimed in the papers that one of the means of identifying Esposito was a longitudinal scar on the forehead. Where did any scar appear on the forehead of the prisoner? If it existed the prisoner could not have wiped it away. The prosecution could not plead urgency, or that the prisoner was fleeing from justice at the time the arrest was made. He was living quietly in New Orleans. Counsel described the prisoner’s detention as a wrong which ought not to be permitted in a land of liberty Mr, Coudert replied that wrongs as great were done in this country every day. If the prisoner was really Esposito he was one of the worst scoundrels alive, and neither New York nor New I Orleans would care to have him as a citizen. He had killed for money, cut off the ears of a gentleman for money, and tortured a lady for money. The j statute of liberty need not shiver, or, I if painted, need not blush because the I prisoner was detained two weeks until his identity should be established. He was, at any rate, a man who gave a, [ false name.

I -Who is he?" asked M-r. Coi’.dert ‘ The prosecution says he is lie says he is Randazzo. ’’ Ex-Judge Choate—He s»ys ' IS name is Rebello. Mr. Coudert-We do- . bt if U» at is his name. Ex-Judge Cheat .. T . . ■> Clteil thc of an Italian cxtr ... , . 1Q - ... edited as a bandit in 1875. and trie , i ..i. ton an.uUr charge when hegottoltr , lT , , , - r . / IJ ' le nsked tUat t,lc Pdis- ’ discharged, and be remanded j the prosecution opportunity to * dre a " cw Wrr » Bt from s United it- ‘Ates magistrate at New Orleans. ’ «aid that there tuigln be forty (hiMldred witnesses i c New Or> ans

could testify to the prisoner’s identity, yet who could not be examined by a commission. To return the prisoner to New Orleans would not delay the prosecution. Mr. Coudert asked why tffe prisoner did not take the witness stand and tell all about himself. Already two or three men had been stabbed in New Orleans because they were suspected of having betrayed him. Dr. I'Ho—The prisoner's friends were the ones stabbed. Commissioner Osborn decided to adjourn the hearing until Aug. 8. He said that in the mean time he would consider whether or not the prisoner should be remanded to New Orleans. AN INTRICATE PROPOOSITION With which Major Max Greatly Puzzled his Wife. ■ Dit it over occur to yotj., tny dear, that a person going overland would have to mail two letters a day from the train in order to have one letter a day return to San Francisco?” asked Major Max the other evening, after the cloth was removed from the table and his wife was pouring his glass of twothirds benedictine and one-third curacoa. which the Major contended, was the only civilized drink with which to pre] are for the after-dinner cigar. Mrs. Max passed-the Major bis cordial and Wai.cd a moment before replying. “ Why, no. it seems to me that, if a person traveling east mailed'a letter each day by a westward-bound train a letter would arrive here each day.” Mrs; Max answered cautiously, for while she knew that the Major pretended to deplore the fact that she was illogical, he really derived much comfort from his superior comprehension, and was somewhat addicted to studying out intricate propositions with which to puzzle the lady. ‘•You think so, do you?” queried the Major, as though about to be convinced by her, while in truth he only wanted her to commit herself more decidedly, that his victory would be the more signal. “Why yes," Mrs. Max continued, somewhat assured. “If you mailed a letter on the first day out, it would get here the next day; if you mailed one the day following it would arrive hero a day after the first, and letters, being mailed twenty-four hours apart, would, of course, continue to arrive here aday apart. They couldn’t grow further apart on the road, could they, Major?” Mrs. Max wound up this sequence of feminine logic with a triumphant accent, and felt sure she had posed theMajor, for he did not reply’ until after lighting a cigar. Then he said slowly. “You post a letter the first day out.” •■Yes.” “That letter arrives here the day after you leave?” “Certainly. One day gone, one letter received.” “Exactly. Well the next day—-a little curacoa, straight, please—the next day yon post another letter from the train, and—” “And that arrives here the day after the first, of course, making two days out and two letters received, and so on to New York. Eh, Major?” If Mrs Max had not been examining a new pattern of lace she had in her sleeve she might have noticed the satisfied smile the Major had as he leaned back in his chair and said: The second day out you would be at Ogden?" “Yes.” “Wouldn’t it take as long for a letter to return to San Francisco as it had taken you to go to Ogden?” “I suppose so.” “Then the second letter would a here two days after you left Ogd l four days after you left here?” Mrs. Max looked up and s;> tatingly; "Well I don’t know how that out.” "I did not make it ou’ I only asked if I was righ*

“No, you are not: if yo ■> on a returning train each A sß| letter must arrive hare < u'«t a don't care.” V **J' ■Mrs. Max, how lon ■'■ to go to New York?" ' ■ “Sever, days, t sup l£ “Then a letter a <‘ s«. ’’ letters. You would] truij.j |H •’a sixth day < i,t Jou 1 . S1 - ,°, Se ' e O tai. <• it six more d« Jt > a O J . ‘ e «er |H ■.welve davs aff'er / ■- r ’ /o M-ru,.,, ”’° u fd |B as you had .„dy > 'J 0 ' 1 l lure ’ ■ t- e tb' one " ' 11 th, ■ ‘rived? e^'ia 'e ar . Mtv Ms ’ |A'in<M lt;! ( B ~■!> 11l kid v A A aQ( | f'-y.-H.' I :! api i-( r . ; ..yvws. *Y'i'<ul 1 ’hat I ;l y_, cyr., ;, I posts a ■ day »’aat it take- , '°"" d ,rjui gj fS t Qflrriv X*- ks ■ : v 11 *omd replied the ■ j- Mor.gtow l ngei iil f. ! . t;l! , i h ,. hi H e,g.ir. He new M , x H " for th.. ■ '' ,e '’’ bu, slle "MBl.d tu4.sk for f. lrth<< . H e explanatiuu. A |H|

NO. 17.